


If I Gotta Sin To See You Again

by ofproperform (orphan_account)



Series: Sins of the Flesh (AnderTegra) [2]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Church Sex, F/M, From hate to love, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ofproperform
Summary: They don't get a happily ever after. But here in the pews of this church they can numb the pain.





	

God himself turned away from this, this spark of **sin** that crawled across the churches and pews they met among. Integra had a collar around this vatican dog's throat, lust the padlock. The Hellsing held the leash with **undignified** pleasure, whenever he appeared. She could hold him with a tentative breath, with the arch of her back, with the bow of her lips as she exhaled exaltation. Writing her sins into the stonework and facades.

Like any other of their trysts it starts simply: Integra appears. He disarms her guards. She never brings Alucard, nor does she bring Seras. She sets it up simply. She provides the alibi. They end in immorality.

This time he has her pinned in the pews, laying flat against the wood, knees bent, one hooked over the back of the pew. She is a vision, tanned and naked and in this moment, this sordid display, she is his. It is a breath leaving her lips that focuses him back to the task at hand. She had so lewdly put it before this began, hadn’t she? Getting it over and done with, relieving the _stress_.

They are both uncharacteristically **silent** through the encounter. She is taking sick pleasure in feeling him within her in this holy place, as always. The Monarch’s whore, and the Vatican’s heathen. She revels in _his sacrilege_. But tonight she is quiet, they are silent. This is the _grave_ of the tryst. It has run its course.

The pressure mounts between her thighs and he feels her tightening, but she doesn’t speak, makes no sound, not even as she comes. He pulls out, grabbing her shoulders, making her sit up.

“ **No**.” the word sounds hollow as they leave her lips “we’ve got to _end_ this,” he is near orgasm but her words are driving that away from him. She sits up, naked, a vision of pale almost-white blonde locks and steely eyes. Without her glasses she narrows her icy blue eyes to see him clearly. She is speaking words of wisdom, surely. He grabs her though, gently, thumbs pressing into the hollow at the joint of her shoulder and body. He looks so helpless, he does not mean to look as if slapped, but here he is, trying to save this sin.

“We do not have to end _this_ ,” the words do not sound his own. They sound weak and pathetic and as if he is too invested in the sin. They are blurted out and he quickly lets go of her, eyes searching her face. He is much older, even more war torn than she is.

“Ah yes, because the Vatican will enjoy finding out how desecrated you have become, those hypocritical half-baked liars.”

He lets her talk, but the minute she has stopped he presses his lips, raw from kissing her and sore from chewing, against her soft, thin pair. He traps her in his desperation.

“Don’t.” he is more forceful, lips still against hers, pressing her to him as if when this ends he will watch her walk away and return to being a terrible enemy again. “We don’t have to--”

“We’ll always have to **hide** this.” she reminds him.

“We don’t have to tell anyone, Hellsing.” He offers. She examines his features as she ponders. They could get away with things if they continue to hide the nature of all of this.

“Are you trying to hide feelings for me, Anderson?” she does not move to comfort him, her words and stillness are a slap to his face. He is explosive, she is a lit fuse. “Trying to deny affection?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth, honest and unabashed. He didn’t know what this had become, evolving deeply away from mere sex between rivals. It had become filled with wish that they could be more. She hears his words and her expression darkly changes, and she moves so she can reach for her button down which has been carelessly draped over the pew in front of them, sleeves falling into the hymnal book holders.

Integra was hiding the feelings she’d developed for him, but knowing she was not alone. It ran a cold shiver up her spine. He stops her, holding her wrist, pulling her in for another kiss.

She lets the blouse fall softly to the ground.

“Alexander.” She whispers. He shudders like her whisper had frozen her. He looks her over, notices her cheeks flushed, the blush extending far down her throat and over her small breasts. She moves, slaps him, and he is caught off guard, jerking back, nearly dropping her to the wood of the pew below her. “We’ll never have a normal moment. It will be in these sullen and sordid places, hiding, pretending we have barely avoided death.”

He nodded solemnly. “I **know**.”

They don't get a "together." They don't get happy. 

They get sneaking out of a church in the quiet, they get ignoring the obvious.

 


End file.
